Exhausted after creating their new strain of
red wine, Bernard and Manny trudged upstairs.
The door to the master bedroom - Freddie's room, presumably - was
locked, but the house had another five to choose from.
The one next to the four-acre bathroom was obviously the best.
Deep red carpet, king size, four-poster bed with velvet throw and satin
sheets. Once they'd found it, neither of them were willing to
give it up.
"I saw it first," Manny declared, dragging his aching body to the bed
and sitting down heavily.
"You don't deserve it. It's your fault we've spent the last hour
re-creating a wine good enough for the Pope!"
"It's your fault too! Why didn't you say something about the
Londis labels?"
"I thought you knew what you were talking about? I thought you'd
been paying attention? You're the professional!"
"Professional? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You were an accountant! You did my taxes! I assumed you
were listening when Freddie told you about the wines."
Flustered, Manny admitted, "I'm not very good at details."
"Details? You're good with numbers! Fifty bottles we can
drink, ten we can't. It's not that difficult."
"I'm sorry!"
"Accepted." He wondered out of the bedroom and went next door
into the bathroom. Manny started to undress, rubbing his leg
where it was still periodically cramping. He was naked by the
time Bernard came back.
"My room!" he declared with more confidence than he felt.
"Mine." It wasn't even an argument, it was a stated fact.
Manny hadn't known Bernard very long, but he knew him well enough not
to bother disagreeing. No one won an argument with this Irishman
unless they got physical. In Bernard's case he suspected that
meant nothing more violent than tickling but he wasn't about to find
out.
Instead he crawled under the duvet and pulled it up around him,
settling in on the far side of the bed, closing his eyes and taking a
deep, calming breath. A couple of minutes later the light went
out.
He started when the bed dipped and Bernard joined him under the duvet.
"What are you doing?"
"What's wrong? You said you weren't gay. I'm not gay.
Therefore we can both sleep in the same bed without fear of... any...
you know."
"What?"
"Gay... stuff."
"Oh. Right. Yes."
"Good. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Manny lay completely still, eyes open, looking out of the window at the
moon and after a couple of minutes, Bernard rolled over to face
him. Silently, he reached out and gently took up a lock of
Manny's hair, letting it fall through his fingers.
"Why is your hair always so amazing?" he asked quietly.
Manny rolled onto his side too, caught by Bernard's eyes, large and
dark in the dim light.
"Shampoo, probably." He didn't know what else to say. He
had no idea what this was or where it was coming from.
"It's been a long time since I've shared a bed with someone," the
disembodied voice came to him in the darkness. "A very long time."
There was a sadness in the tone that did things to Manny he couldn't
believe. In the few weeks he'd been living at the shop he'd found
that sometimes Bernard looked at him in a way that touched something
inside him, something that until now had seemed indefinable.
Until now.
He didn't know what to say. Suddenly, he wanted to touch, more
than anything he wanted to reach out and comb his fingers through the
wild black hair, perhaps tame it a little. But touching lead to
other things, things that would be impossible to sort out in the
morning, things his and Bernard's relationship, such as it was,
wouldn't survive.
So the kiss startled him, crashing his train of thought into the walls
of his rational mind.
'Kiss' might have been a little definitive. Bernard's mouth
touched his in a drunk, fumbling search.
Manny responded helpfully with a yelp and retreated a foot or so
backwards before he'd even considered whether or not the contact was
something he could maybe enjoy.
"Sorry." The half-choked apology reached him and before Bernard
could turn his back, Manny reached for him.
Inching forward until certain parts of his body came into contact with
Bernard's, he finally found the courage to stroke his hand over the
thick, dark hair. "Do that again."
This time, Manny angled his head as soon as he felt the other man's
mouth searching for his. He touched lips to lips and waited,
carding his fingers into Bernard's hair, until they both were brave
enough to try for something more.
The tip of a tongue touched his lips and he parted them
invitingly.
Bernard tasted of smoke and red wine, exactly as Manny had known he
would. But the way he moved restlessly, the way he stretched
himself the length of Manny's body while at the same time almost
curling into him, that was a surprise. Manny made a sound
embarrassingly close to a whimper and hooked one leg over Bernard's,
keeping him close.
It was insane. They kissed like starving men, Bernard's hands
moving from Manny's hair to his shoulders and back. Manny tried
to soothe some of the desperate tension from Bernard's body, stroking
his neck and back, realising that despite him starting this, Bernard
wasn't the one leading it.
Drawing his hand firmly over one bare shoulder, Manny finally eased him
away, hushing the soft, almost frantic protests. Nuzzling
Bernard's stubbled jaw felt faintly ridiculous but at the same time he
didn't want to break the contact completely. He could only guess
what it must feel like having a beard accompanying gentle kisses on
sensitive skin.
Bernard didn't seem to mind. He was moving, still restless.
Fingers threading through Manny's hair, catching and pulling.
The sharp pain just made things worse.
Manny boldly stroked his palm over the flat planes and stark curves of
Bernard's body. It was a surprise just how slim he was. His
clothes never gave anything away about his shape and Manny found a
pronounced rib cage and rounded hips.
Bernard's touches were less certain but Manny didn't mind. He
didn't care. Just to hold someone was enough. Never in a
million years would he have expected have this with Bernard. This
was as about as surreal as it got.
He couldn't believe they were actually lying here, touching one another
in a huge bed in a guest room in a large house belonging to a guy
they'd just robbed of seven thousand pound's worth of wine. They
were bastards for sure.
Stupid, drunk, gloriously naked bastards in bed together for the first
time.
"Bernard...."
"Please." The Irish tones were hushed, almost pained.
Definitely frightened. "Just... I need this."
How could he ever deny him?
Manny kissed him, blindly finding his mouth and sweeping his tongue
over the dry lips, forcing himself between them to sample again the
unique taste he knew would never change.
And for a moment he could feel Bernard's automatic resistance, a
defence against violence, an innate response to someone doing what
Manny had just done. Bernard overrode it easily, arching up into
Manny's mouth, hands in his hair, on his back, clutching at his
shoulders. But it was reassuring to know that defence was
there. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt Bernard by
using this against him, couldn't imagine Bernard going down without one
hell of a fight. It was a fight that even drunk out of his skull
he would probably win.
Pure Irish blood.
It was what Manny loved about him.
It was strange not to be talking, not to hear Bernard muttering at him
about something or other. The breathy moans were definitely out
of character. And the soft pleas were something he knew he'd
never be able to mention in the cold light of day.
Manny brought them together carefully, rubbing the length of his dick
against Bernard's, frankly impressed that despite the almost constant
drinking and smoking, his friend's erection was standing tall alongside
his own.
He found a rhythm and kept to it, soothing Bernard as he was swept
along. He rode the peaks, almost painfully aware of the
fingernails in his shoulders. But it was worth it to have Bernard
wrapped so tight around him, moving with him, reaching for a climax
that for so long seemed just out of reach.
Then unexpectedly they both exploded together, filling the air with
hard cries and the sweaty scent of sex.
Manny expected Bernard to pull away from him almost immediately, but
instead he snuggled closer and seemed to settle against him with a
happily sated sigh.
As they lay there, Manny wondered how long it had been, if Bernard's
love life had been as barren as his own for as long.
Fran had said she didn't think he'd ever be able to cope with having a
girlfriend. Too much pressure to perform, too many demands on his
time. He had very simple needs - a book, a glass of wine, a
cigarette and a peaceful life. Not a lot to ask for really.
Manny knew that at least he could satisfy those basic needs. And
maybe one or two more as well, on the odd occasion when Bernard let
him. He had no illusions that this was anything other than the
reaction between alcohol and adrenaline.
He dozed for a while, warm and comfortable. Sure, they were
sticky but it didn't seem to be bothering Bernard who was plastered
around him.
But eventually Manny's bladder insisted he go for a pee and he had to
ease himself out from Bernard's welcome weight.
With a weak, incoherent protest, Bernard rolled over onto his side and
that was how Manny found him a couple of minutes later.
Unsure, he crawled back into bed, leaving a couple of inches between
them.
"Bernard," he whispered, "I don't...."
The answer wasn't verbal. Without a word being uttered, he got an
armful of sleepy Irishman.
It was good. It was great in fact. As Bernard sank into
sleep, Manny held him close, just enjoying the sensation of another
human being warm and naked curled trustingly against him.
This was something way beyond surprise. Attraction he knew was in
the eye of the beholder but you really had to push the boundaries of
definition with Bernard. Foul-mouthed, often foul-smelling.
He drank, smoked, swore, but now Manny came to think about it, he
couldn't remember any actual burping or farting. Still, his idea
of a shower involved being fully clothed at the time and although he
shaved regularly and daily subjected his hair to a wash, he always
looked as if he'd slept in his clothes in a hedge.
So why was it that at this moment Bernard was the most wonderful,
incredible thing on the planet?
It wasn't as if he hadn't known from day one that working in Bernard's
bookshop wasn't going to be just another job. And living under
his roof wasn't going to be like living in the flat in Soho with Peter
the chartered accountant.
Only a couple of weeks ago, Manny's first day at the shop, they'd both
declared adamantly that they weren't gay and they were definitely
interested in women. Well, actually Bernard hadn't said
that. He'd said he'd thought he was gay for a while. It was
Manny himself who'd waxed lyrical on the joys of women as well as
standard lamps.
Not that it mattered. Gay, straight, bi, lesbian... whatever.
It hadn't made a shred of difference twenty minutes ago.
His mind touched on the morning and he found he didn't want to think
about it. God alone knew how Bernard was going to react.
Badly, more than likely.
Eventually Manny fell asleep surrounded by the scent of wine and smoke
and sex.
elfin
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